


Should You Meet The Wolf

by JChanoftheGods



Series: Should You Meet The Wolf [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, Dissection, F/M, Immortality, Incest, M/M, Mild Gore, Necromancy, incubus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JChanoftheGods/pseuds/JChanoftheGods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't you have such big eyes," said the Knight to the Wolf, once upon a time. And he did, really, for children's eyes are always so wide. But rather than answer with such, the Wolf instead smiled. "The better to see the world with you." He handed the other a traveling cloak, and it was such a deep red  that one smelled the bloodstains rather than seeing them. He inhaled that metallic scent, his own bloodstream set ablaze.</p><p>The Wolf wrapped the Knight in crimson, devoured him. He laid with him and coveted his taste, exposing the sinews and muscles, claws and fangs of a beast beneath the wool and softness. </p><p>(and filled to the brim, the Wolf knew - the Knight was his forever)</p><p>(Incubus John AU, with Necromancer Dave)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sourceress

"Don't you have such big eyes," said the Knight to the Wolf, once upon a time. And he did, really, for children's eyes are always so wide. But rather than answer with such, the Wolf instead smiled. "The better to see the world with you." He handed the other a traveling cloak, and it was such a deep red that one smelled the bloodstains rather than seeing them. He inhaled that metallic scent, his own bloodstream set ablaze. The Knight's legs shook, but not his expression, meaning it very well could have been from fatigue. Yes, fatigue. He was so very tired, after all.

"Quite a nose you have there," said the Knight, for he could see (with his own shaded eyes) that the Wolf breathed him in, like fresh air, like a delicacy. An asinine statement, an obvious observation, the Wolf thought, continued to smile, uneven, lips tilted in a way that was too… pleased, too mischievous, didn't match that glint in his eyes. He laughed, and it was a boyish sound that erupted from those teeth. "Well of _course_. No one else is going to be there by your side if I don't smell you out." Just the right amount of confidence to make it true. The Knight looked down on him, but felt no more in a position of authority or power, no higher. He was reflected on teeth, a grin that should not be so notably emphasized. Not with the content and nature of their conversation. Not with the way his tail quirked so playfully. There was such bliss and playfulness in the Wolf's face, ruined only by _those teeth_.

The Wolf wrapped the Knight in crimson, devoured him. He laid with him and coveted his taste, exposing the sinews and muscles, claws and fangs of a beast beneath the wool and softness. Laying down, the Knight said, "look at those teeth. What does something like you even need those for?"

"So it's easier to bite into you." The Wolf tip-toed claws over skin, scratching when they dragged between steps, raising lines. " _Much_ easier to suck you dry." Pointed, serrated kisses trailed down the Knight's body, switching up between skin and nips, rough tongue lapping up what he had to spill. "And the better to eat you whole." And the Knight sunk down into the Wolf, piece by piece, pulled inside.

And as the Wolf had said, there was no one - no Woodsman to save him and chop him free, no family to miss him. The Knight was eaten alive, never to be seen again. Everything of substance was gone, leaving a husk in red. 

( _and filled to the brim, the Wolf knew - the Knight was his forever_ )

_ Should You Meet The Wolf _

by J-chan

When she finally left the town, they watched her pass, breath held. She cut through the woods with grace and poise, the bright oranges and yellows of her robes catching what little light trickled through, then expanding it like a beacon. Darker, magenta and purpled colors melted and bled into the more natural darkness, but could not stop the light from breaking free around it. While like most, she had no place there, it was clear that she was not it's victim. The dark welcomed her with slow respects, rather than swallowing her whole. Lightly tanned leather boots strode through the thicket, robes trailing like firelight, dragging leaves in the crackling similarity of noise. Last to go was her attendant, keeping a solemn trail of her ambassador, carrying the tails of her sash. It was not unusual to see a woman of such position keep a demon by her side, as servant, as confidante. But an Astral? A demon of power, embodying legends of the stars. They felt the power in the servant as much as they could in the mistress, expelling just as much light. And then they were gone, the last trickle of light spreading in too far to be seen from outside.

Once upon a time, a Sourceress traveled the lands of Derse, on her own personal mission. It was on it's borders, in it's deepest words, that she found the cliff. Here, the liquid flow of light she had carried with her, like an amphora, pooled together. The trees that had looks so menacing within, now sheltered the light from without. With a gesture from her mistress, the attendant released the cloth, letting it flow down. Upwards, they began.

The cliff - the cliff was old, overlooking the forest that had spit them out, weathered countenance making clear it's age. It had watched these trees grow, watched the legends and nightmares of wolves and monsters sprout from seed. And as it had been circled by these giants, it took to a quiet brooding, hidden here from civilization. Interest, however, was not in the cliff. It was the house - she surveyed it from the angles in the ascending slope of a rarely used path. It had been carved into existence by travelers from a long, long time ago, before the house. To that parallel, the house screamed of death and decades, jutted precariously from the cliff face, supported by creaking beams, saturated by the roar of water that flowed down, licking at the wood. Crows gathered on the balcony at it's end, built around the spout of liquid sourced from the roof. 

Her attendant shuddered, in a way that suggested she could _smell_ the rot that had attracted the scavengers. With a less sensitive palette, all she could catch at first was the dampened stench of the structure, a scent of decay in it's own way. But as the both of them rose higher, both aromas passed - replaced instead by a strong, drifting floral. The unmistakable rise of sod and grass upon the home's roof, funeral flowers to whose purpose was to mask death from those still hesitant to confront it. She knew, she had found what she’d searched for.

Nearly to the top, her eyes caught the sway of crimson fabric - a flutter of robes as the door closed behind. A pale face, cased in light blonde hair, and orchid eyes that paused at said obstruction. Hesitance only overtook her for a moment, before a light, inquisitive touch on her shoulder drove her forward, not looking back, drawn to the deceptive perfume of a house that gathered black from the trees around it. If she had drawn in a breath, it was discreet, like a lyrist between her lines, not allowing the gesture to break her rhythm. She knocked on oak, and waited.

It had been years - years that she waited, years that she held her breath, years that she continued to look, tired and slowly feeling hope drip away. And it only felt like years more, waiting for the response. But eventually, the door swung open, and the quaint motion felt so much more grand than it truly was, the equally light hair, the look on his face, the way she could see his expression fall, even behind the shaded eyewear. She could only say one thing.

"… you're shorter than I expected you to be, David."

He was slack-jawed, gaping quietly, unresponsive. Disappointing. A hand to her chest, as casual as she could make the slow fiddling with the tendriled clasp on her traveling shawl, and did her best to smile in as cold and passive a manner as she could manage. "Aren't you going to invite us in…? I'm afraid I don't have a housewarming gift. I'd still like to see what you've done with the place."

And finally, it seemed to click. He hesitated, and she half-expected him to shut the door upon her, turn her away, avoid confrontation. She had years of catalogued expectation of reaction, that suddenly seemed moot. Because the boy she knew had been gone a very long time. Eventually, he shook from the trance, stepping aside. A stiff, sheepish mockery of gesture beckoned them forward. "… what took you so long? Come on inside."

~*~

"You should hear the stories in the town, David. They had quite a bit to tell us in that little Dersite Pub. Do you go down there often?"

He was in the countered space area constituted as a kitchen within the open space of the home. She could hear the crows cawing up a storm, over the muffled sound of the roaring waterfalls, either disturbed by the visitors, or something outside. Visibly, he cast a dirty glance out the window, short-lived as he poured the apple juice he had fetched from the cool storage below the counter. He sighed in irritable resignation, shedding the red cloak and tossing it to the floor, sending up a flurry of dust.

"Of course I have. Every week, getting supplies. Lohac's weird as all Hell, Rose. They sure like to check out the goods whenever I stop by."

Rose. Her own name sounded foreign to her, rolling off of that voice. He looked her over, placing the drink down, which she took gracefully. The Sun of the Seer fluttered on the fabric that rolled over her sleeve. From over his glasses, she saw him take notice, could almost see his tuck his tongue-in-cheek, hesitant to ask questions, knowing she'd only have her own in response. Her attendant was tensing, nostrils flared as she sniffed something in the air, and he only seemed more nervous, stiffly keeping his attention on the Sourceress. She let him teeter precariously on edge, sipping slowly before responding.

"Oh, of course they do. They have plenty of tales about the pale-faced stranger that graces their modest, _quiet_ square." And he knew what that smirk was for, the warm familiarity of humor, the twinge of comfort that… that they were still the same, in some aspect. He dared to give a snort of laughter in knowing response.

"Right. Quiet. They don't even wait until I'm out of the butcher's shop before they start gossiping. I don't think they really know what 'whispering' means. Not that I can understand half of it, just a whole bunch of 'yak yak yak'. Second I step out of the woods, there they are. Have my own personal welcoming party. And don't even get me started on the apples."

One quick look around the kitchen emphasized his point. Apple cake, apple strudel, apple pie. The sweet scent of it all overtook the musk and dust. "I noticed," she responded wryly. "There were baskets set aside in the square. I must admit, it was a lovely looking crop. They must have brought them in from Prospit. Lowas had a large harvest this year, from what I understand."

"Baskets? As in 'plural'? Fuck." He was quick to finally shed formalities and stiff potential political conversation of trade. A look of nausea came over his face as he picked up his coat, carrying it to the bed that was sheltered in the nook of bookshelves at the opposite end of the home. "It's their newest 'thing'. And by 'thing' I mean 'well shit, Strider, I don't think you found enough creative uses for apples last week. Here, let's the double the damn amount so you can think of more. You'll be shitting apples up whole, they'll be coming up from your ears, let's bury you in fucking apples, rest in peace. We knew him, Horatio. It's what he would have wanted.'."

It was a miracle that she let him go on - it was only as he trailed off on that last sentence that he picked up on her strategy, suddenly shutting up. Rose was staring him down, waiting for that sentence she could bury him with. Her poor attendant, though - the woman looked lost and put off, unfamiliar with the humor of her Mistress' acquaintance. Dave glanced again outside, at a flurry of black feathers. Targeted her instead, looking over the curve of her ivory horns, the fine state of her dress, the shade of her family sign. He apparently knew enough about the Rankings of her kind's society to know she was no run-of-the-mill breed. "Aren't you a pretty far ways from the Rings. Unless you're part of that colony in Lopah. Still, Rose here has to be offering a pretty fucking big reward if you're trailing her to Derse and back."

Ah, she loved this part - Kanaya in passive action. The woman elegantly acknowledged him with a meaningful glance, before averting her gaze in a way that showed both subservience and subtly shunned him. Still, she was polite, black lips moving in finely enunciated words. "It's quite an honor to act as a Familiar to the Black Queen's Sourceress. And of course, were I not here, I don’t believe she could have found her way here. I have acquaintances that I'm afraid My Lady's social skills and cold, dark stares simply cannot keep at bay."

Dave seemed taken aback by her blunt words. But Rose only gave a knowing, quiet smile. "I don't believe social skills were at all required for that particular acquaintance, dear. Speaking of which - isn't Lopah a bit far off to be in your radar of notice, David? It's a bit more Southern-bound from your little base. I can't imagine you'd be keeping tabs." She set down her glass, gently propping her elbows, folding her hands, and staring him down. There it was. That expression, the corners of his mouth stiffened, realizing he was about knee-deep in his grave. She had him cornered, and he turned in a way that she would see not even the barest hint of expression behind his eyewear.

"Who these days doesn't know about Lopah? Get along with the times, Lalonde. A rising, Prospitian colony of horned freaks, because Prospit’s too nice to turn them away. Adorable when they get all hissy and puffy. No offense." This was, of course, directed to the Astral at his table And there wouldn't have been offense present, as far as he could knew. Lopah was a colony of lower ranks that sought asylum. But when he offered another glass to the Familiar, she politely declined, a small bit of teeth in that sleek upward turn of her lip.

"It's quite alright, Sir. It's rather hard these days to reserve judgment, considering the representation. And I can assure you, with my most sincere expressions of relief, that the said representation you spoke of had as little amount of fond words for you."

Trapped, run ragged - he seemed to run pale, and Rose only continued to speak with her attendant. "Kanaya, I don't know how you differentiate any word from another. I admit I wasn't listening very carefully, but I was at least under the impression he was not talking very much about David."

"Then you were paying more attention than you give yourself credit for, Rose. Still, what little he did say was rude. But he also, upon the other hand, tends to build things up. I have of course been trying to sniff out this other presence since we arrive - if you’ll beg my pardon.” She gave a fleeting implication of this regret with another slight bow. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t have invited my Lady within, had he been anything dangerous."

"Of course not. What the hell kind of person do you think I am? Rose is safe here. If he’d - "

\- quiet. Hesitance. When you've lost all else, there's no point to try and dig yourself deeper - he seemed to acknowledge that at last, as both women snapped to look to him, and David stared back. He clenched in a way that seemed tempted to bite off his damn tongue. "If he'd hurt her, he would know I'd throw him out of here."

"It's odd that you feel so confident amongst a predator. You might as well bring the wolves in to live with you." Rose spoke chillingly, critically, and while he knew she had the right, he didn't know if she had the appropriate evidence. Which… she hadn’t. She had barely found what had brought him here in the first place, and they were delving into entirely different subjects with wild abandon, both becoming closer and farther away. He challenged her gap of knowledge with confidence.

"So give me a moment, let's get the sources straight - was this from Stefan in the Pub, or was this from the nubby-horned Astral who couldn't get a straight word out from his over-complicated slew of adjective-loaded bellowing fests? And did this come before or after the apple stories? You have me on complete edge here, Lalonde. It's like a post-drunken Messenger game."

"If you must know, David, both. We came across Kanaya's acquaintance within the Pub. And it came slightly after the traditional rendition of their monthly sacrifice to the local Deathbringer, that he may leave their town and future generations in peace."

Silence, eyes still locked. Gears were turning, he was grasping for straws before weakly rebuking, "I don't snatch kids. I don't touch _anyone_ in the Village, hell, Rose." It was a pathetic defense that would only stand so long to avoid this unpleasant, looming truth. "Is that what they said? Or was that just some elaborate narrative from your part?"

"The term? Elaborate narrative. I thought you'd prefer I avoid some of the specific wording. As for the rest? Their words, not mine. Not to worry - I don't think even they believe it. They're much too fond of you."

"Good to know. Otherwise the next trip to town would've been really awkward."

A bitter note rang on his sarcasm, and echoed in fallen silence. Rose breathed in, heaved a sigh. Looked down at the table, energy suddenly leaving her for the break in their banter. And for that split second, she just… suddenly felt very, very tired. It began to sink in. Things had changed. She was struck temporarily dumb at the the thought, that they couldn't just go back to how things were. He was the first to speak again, when it seemed she wouldn't.

"While all this is so thoughtful - I mean, dropping by, unannounced, belated housewarming, all of that - is that all? Are we finished here?" She had not once touched her drink. Finally, he watched her take a long sip, and took it as a signal to continue. "Or did you have anything else to get off of your chest? I'd love to hear more names. Why not? How about, 'David, Lord of Apples and Despair'? Spread that one around Lohac, see how long it takes for them to catch on to it. I'll be needing a wagon to bring the sacrifices home. I'll give some to you - Tribute. Imagine the scandal. Sourceress of Derse, in contact with a - what did you call it? Death Dealer? Something like that, shit. That sounds a lot fancier than 'Necromancer'."

"You would have made an excellent Mage, David." When she finally chose to cut in, his mouth snapped shut, promptly, obediently. "What happened to that? Or to being a Knight? You were mouthy, but you had your heart in the right place. And you disappeared." It was her turn for the cold, bitter tone to make itself present, warming slightly by the next sentence. "It's an awfully odd shift in paradigms. Please, tell me it was something else. Don't make me beg. Why would you leave that behind?"

Terribly evident as it was that he did not want to answer, she couldn't help but stare, scared that she already was in possession of the answer. She could still see the lost adolescent that had disappeared so long ago, hiding in the skin if a young man aged by more than time. Her eyes were locked, and his refused to meet, to take that look up. Just as she was ready to deal the final blow, that he need not respond, that she knew - then, then he chose to interrupt. Not David, quiet, showing that slow realization that he couldn't pretend they had left off on the same page. In his shock, the other cut in.

It happened all too quickly.

Only barely had she felt the touch on the edges of her face, claws about to slide in, perhaps. More easily, she picked up on the sound of her Attendant hissing, felt her lunge forward, knock past her Mistress' shoulder in a last minute collision previously protected against by another presence, that has been delicately stretched against her back, as the shiver at a sudden absence of contact implied. Startled, she went to turn back, but could only see Kanaya, hunched, growling at something in front, where David stood, where she had just been looking. Silly, stupid little mind games, that monsters were always so keen upon. She was better braced to turn and face him, standing there, position steady, but grin elated and wild, body poised with delight in his slight lean over the head of the chair, right in between the newly reunited spell casters. Temporarily, her mind stalled at the young, rounded face. She knew, on an instinctual level, through the eyes, that she looked in the face of the world's experience, of an indeterminate but guaranteed length of years. Yet that never made it any easier to stare down the face of children.

Whoever he had been before - that was always interesting to dwell on. Whose face had this been? One row of teeth laid over the other, perfectly innocent in any other case. But here - though not a spot of blood was present, it was plain that here, here was where the beast-filled woods came to intersect, catastrophically, with this oasis of light. Kanaya's growl still hung low in her throat, slow to come to silence. And David, David still did not move. He had jolted from his previous position of brooding, but not stood stiff and still, pretending to not be present, even as the new intruder looked to him.

"How long were you going to take? I got _bored_." Ah, that voice pattern - it didn't escape her, the insistence on implied youth. Secondly, she noticed the casualty, familiarity. She could have laughed. For a split second, in lost control, she did. Low, but rippling, a tad hysterical. She let it fade, trying to make it sound purposeful, not wanting to show weakness that could be preyed upon. Ears still perked at the sound, as she was surveyed like a piece of meat. Kanaya was still tense beside her, and if the pseudo-Idol had been allowed to dictate her actions, she would have been struck dumb in that very second. As it was, though, she was free to say whatever she wished. And despite the silent urgings against instigation, whatever hysterical amusement it was held inside her drove her to respond:

"My apologies - I was unaware I had to work so hard to engage my host." Slowly, she built back up a flow. "We had, of course, been wondering where you were. You see, I've been rather interested in meeting you since you were mentioned by Kanaya's associate. He hadn't specifically mentioned _what_ you were, so I hope you'll forgive me fore being taken aback?"

And she could see it now, immediately - the body language, the posture, the magnetic tendencies and addiction to physical contact and intimacy. He did not separate from David's side, did not respond past an elongation of that stare, bright blue eyes pervading square-rimmed spectacles, almost veiled at the edges by dark black hair, wisped from the center of his forehead where they fell, between the rise and fall of curved horns. Demon, yes. That much she'd known from the start. A demon that clung to the side of a man she'd thought dead, a demon whose tail flicked back and forth, like an anxious animal swatting at flies. And of course, she could see the spade, vaguely interglot, just noticeable past the way it furled, at a slight wavy curve. Judging by the minimal visible features, he was well-fed, and either just developing the craving, or showing off. Either was likely. David still was not looking at her, and she truly knew why now, though she still held on to her initial suspicion. This changed nothing, only made the situation worse. Their new arrival finally shrugged. "Dave told me to stay outside until you left. But I guess you were planning on overstaying your welcome. So I came back in. It's getting dark, I'm hungry." Ah. The 'craving' then. 'Dave', however, was hearing none of it.

"Then eat the cakes. Or eat birds, or whatever it is you're doing out there that upsets them so much." He cut him off curtly, walking away. The child with eyes like the Old Ones gave a strangely animal noise, a whine, before tailing after him to the bedded study. "Rose isn't here to entertain you."

"I don't eat them, Dave, that's disgusting!" His protests were loud, actions arresting, to the point where Rose and Kanaya no longer seemed to exist. David was too busy trying to get past him, as he somehow managed to consistently direct himself into the pale blonde's path of action, David giving practiced motions of working around the presence, reaching over and sidestepping. A game for two players, no more. As he fought to straighten some things on the little study's desk, he entered some sort of complicated maneuver entangled David slightly around the other, the tips of his ears red as he did his best to stay collected, scribbling something almost blindly on the desk behind them. The demon wasn't affected in the least - he rather, instead, turned his eyes to avoid the others, before dramatically rolling them in redirection to David, causing him to only redden further at the gesture. David separated quickly as he went on. "And I'm sick of the cakes, I can't just keep eating cakes, or pies, or fritters or any of that junk." Exaggerated gagging, before jumping back up to follow the Necromancer. "You wouldn't let me starve, right?" Low, pleading. A tone entirely ruined by the mischievous glint in his eyes. It breaks temporarily, looking back at Rose. "She's not staying, right? I mean, if she's not here to _entertain_ …" His head leaned to finally include the girl, even if his expression remained unchanged.

" _You're_ disgusting, John." David growled, and Rose chose to become preoccupied heavily with her cup. The demon - John, she notes, but also realizes it's likely a nickname, such as the one _he_ insists upon with David. John, who refused to be brought into any sort of guilt, fingers tapping against the desk below him. John who didn't seem to think he had said anything wrong.

"Well I said I was hungry. And you're always funny about that…"

"Is no one affected by the Incubus? Was that just myself that still remembered the definition of 'decent company'?"

And just like that, Kanaya had attracted the attention of all three. Rose sheepishly realized she had nearly forgotten about her, but there she was - body raised up stiffly, legs stiffly clamped together, the poor dear set off by the elephantine conversation piece they'd all been avoiding. Ignorant was not a word Rose would have used. Sensible, rather, for she looked at them all as if they had lost their minds. How could she not wonder? Even as it was finally acknowledged, David was lacking again in response, as only the topic of John seemed to be able to do in such a manner. John dissected her with that gaze, but she merely looked to her Mistress, that look that pleaded, 'are we done here'? "… we aren't staying the night, _are_ we?" She murmured in a tut of the potential affirmation. Rose gazed out the window, at the pink of a falling sunset. Outside, there were wolves, monsters, things that salivated at anything that pervaded their dark. She responded with a rather decisive finality, assured in the best course of action here.

"I think we'd best wrap up with some tea." 

~*~

"… next you know, he follows me here from Lopah, apparently thinking I've made some sort of cultural extension of affection? So Dave and I get to house an angry Astral descended from their greatest Prophet! And then I suppose he went to vent in the Pub at Lohac, where you overheard him? Things sure turn out in weird ways."

Johnathan laughs, stupidly delighted by the story. A few days ago, so were you. You liked Vantas, in the same way people liked small, yapping mutts that seemed to think themselves much bigger. And the Incubus made strange connections. It had taken awhile for you to chase the Lower Demon out, without him having thrown too many of your belongings at John.

But that was then. Now, new house guests. 

Your name is David Strider, but no one has called you that for a very, very long time. You’ve had all kinds of other names, but Rose is the first to bring this one back. And you missed her, you missed her so terribly much, but you did not want her _here_ , watching John's animated story-telling with that patronizing expression you remembered, the one that slid every so often to look towards you watching from your study. You wanted her gone before she found out any more. Her and her Astral, who sniffed every so often, and you knew she could smell the decay and rot, knew it wouldn't be too long. John's extravagant distractions could only last so long. They had to leave.

"Karkat certainly had a lot to say." You gave a glance of recognition to Rose, admittedly interested in hearing how your lives had come to intersect. "I had stopped within the Pub to rest. They left Kanaya and I to be, for the most part. They were exchanging stories, and Karkat interrupted very suddenly. He mentioned your name, and of course, I was a little stunned. Considering I had every right to believe you had _died in a ditch_ , somewhere far away."

"A man can't step out for five years and get some peace?" Because that worked, didn't it? Deflecting accusations with bland sarcasm? Now that everything else was out in the open, what the hell was the use in denial? "So what else did Vantas say? He's a cuddly little guy. Went from yelling at John about what an insensitive prick he was, to telling me what an idiot _I_ was for taking him as a familiar."

"That's the gist of it." Rose conceded. "As angry as he seemed, he held some sort of pity for your situation. Didn't seem to enjoy the chorus of stories about the monsters in the woods, the 'daring heroes' that had risked their lives to see them."

"They get a little carried away, true." Snorting, you turn back to your notes. "Kids wander by all the time, doing dares and the like. Mostly from Lowas, though. We have a pretty bad reputation, being from the woods. All that gloomy, dark mythology, monsters, demons, on and on. But Lohac just likes to talk about us for the sake of having something to talk about.”

“Yes, they did seem fairly taken with you. The women swooned, the men bragged about their valiant efforts to keep you at peace.” God, she loved this. You could no longer draw that line between deciphering amusement and disapproval. She seemed to enjoy administering either one to you. “Though to be honest, your familiar seemed a more popular subject. People tend to be more enraptured by that which is more unknown. They couldn’t seem to agree on whether or not he actually existed.”

A surprisingly modest shrug from John brought him back into the conversation, fiddling with a black feather he had pulled from his pockets. The little fucking brat. “Not everyone can see a demon if they don’t want to be seen. There’s always going to be those ‘gifted’ people that can look through shields and things. If I was in Lolar, it’d be a _completely_ different story. I couldn’t hide even if I _wanted_ to. Lotak used to be the same. But, well. You know.” The feather twirled between his fingers. Rose raised her brow at the implication.

“Lolar, taken by Prospit? I doubt that would happen. It’d be an absolute political mess. Being in my position has it’s benefits, and one of many is knowing your hometown is always secure.”

Unfortunately, John has already lost interest, letting the accusation drop as he finally moves away. Rose eyes his retreating back, then takes a long sip of her tea. “Not one for banter, is he?” she asks cooly. You shrug, and take inventory of how much liquid seems to be left in your guests’ cups.

The Astral hasn’t touched a sip of hers. She was making things increasingly difficult. The more she dawdled, the more she delayed Rose’s clear intention to leave. You’re certain the Sourceress was itching to head back home and start with her cryptological lectures between the lines of lengthy letters to send to you. Couldn’t delay that now, could we? Obviously you’d just need to give a little shove to her attendant. “Kanaya, wasn’t it?” You engaged her. Still tense, her expression at least cooled politely. “If I’m not being rude. Mind telling me what a Minor Idol is doing attached to a human? Isn’t that a bit demeaning for you, immortal, all-powerful Higher Being, what not?”

"Such a ludicrous misconception," she answered, handling her disbelief at his ignorance with a mild sip of tea, "Rose is a very lovely occupation of my time which, for that matter, is no less delicate than your own. Astrals are _not_ immortal, merely resistant. Immortality requires a belief such as that which the Higher Idols gather. Osiris, Odin, Zeus - our Ancestors were merely sidenotes in their legends, garnering enough notoriety to make some very lovely spectacles to dot the night skies. We don't lord over any domains. We can die, and some families simply fade, supported by no real fame outside of a vague, human awareness. I know, for instance, of a particularly proud centaur whose family has done little since their Patriarch's initial precedence. He still keeps the name with an implied glory, but has no territory to attend to. He roams closer to Locas, with little to no visits to the Rings."

Mostly you'd tuned her out, only wanting to run her mouth dry, encourage sips between breaths. Still, you had gotten the impression she hadn't answered your question. "What about you? You look a bit more well off? Why Rose?"

"Her family as falling as well, David." Rose picked up the subject, Kanaya at last downing her drink, eyes closing as to better take in the taste. Conveniently, it also shut out David. He liked this woman, she and Rose matched well in travel. "Slowly, but falling nonetheless. In both power and reputation. Her mother was involved in some of the controversy with the Prophet who founded Lopah with his heir and followers. By traveling with me, she's safer from Higher Demons that would hurt her. She in turn fills in the gaps of my personal knowledge - however few and far between those are."

"Modest as ever." A snort. Kanaya lowered her cup and smiled in response - low, covert, but spreading far across her face. Rose in kind remains smug.

"You _learned_ from me, David. You know I've little reason for modesty."

A terrible habit of Rose's, that - able to use the light egotism of confident idiots, then support it with genuine competence and proof. You remember an adolescent Rose, chosen years before the normal age of students to the Black Queen of Derse. And you remember watching her find her secondary element, at the time most only knew their first. You never minded. You never felt intimidated, or overpowered. Rose was destined for greatness. She seemed convinced you had been as well.

Both of you, of course, saw where that went.

The night was finally beginning to give that air of winding down. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, and you hoped against the odds that you'd catch a decent amount tonight without sleeping like the dead. But your familiar seemed to ensure that that was... simply the life of a necromancer.

Your coat was already put away. In a belated sort of consideration, you pack up the further signs of solitary living. More scrolls, quills, equipment you'd kept out that you felt looked fairly innocuous. Kanaya, of course, picks up one the one exception.

"David?" First name basis at last. You would have been more grateful when you turned to face her, had she not immediately redirected your vision to the sword at it's mount. "Going back to the trend of hoping against impositions. I'd like to take a look at that, if you wouldn't mind?"

“Have you found something interesting?” Rose muses, and you do not react, already moving to fetch the weapon. You hear the drag of Kanaya’s chair as she rises to follow. 

“I’m not certain. That’s why I was hoping to look.” She’s behind you by the time you’ve fetched it, unsheathing slowly from the scabbard, holding it out for her. Her jade-green eyes look over the metal, and soon Rose is at her side, a hand to her shoulder to make her aware of her presence as she watches as well. You feel you’re just as much on display as the blade.

“You’ve got a good eye.” Offhand commentary, because you’re vaguely aware of the specific points she’s noticed. Rose looks up at you. “Gift from John. He isn’t quite like any other incubi. The courting is phenomenal. I’d have been satisfied with flowers, but here he comes, sweeping me from my feet, unsheathing his sword, guiding my shaking, swooning grip to handle it, whispering sweet nothings.”

“We are, of course, still speaking about the blade?” Though Rose smiles in a patronizingly amused manner, you’ve once again caught Kanaya offguard, taken aback, eyes wide and lips pursed. Rose lets the poor thing be. “He is, again, an incubus, but I also have wonderful memories of your more colorful metaphors.”

Cooing, you gentle assure her, “I missed you as well, Lalonde.”

Hands exchange the blade, Rose wanting to take a closer look. If she hasn’t picked up on it’s finer details yet, you’re certain you’ll be fine. You pad over to the kitchen, where John seems to have reallocated himself. A harsh elbow to his side moves him away from the apples, and you grab one for a snack. He’s persistent in cold-shouldering Rose, even moving right past her once kicked from the kitchen. You bring back two more apples to send away with your guests, but Rose is much too focused, hands running back and forth, as if trying to feel something in the surface of the steel.

“... he made this? It’s very fine Demonic craftmanship.” She actually seemed impressed. You can’t help the harsh laughter at it, earning an almost resentful glance. Kanaya picks up the slack from there, passing on the torch of offense.

“Absolutely not. Incubi are hardly known for their crafting skills. Hardly any of them use weapons to begin with, and the little credit their kind does contain is a bit more… crude.” Well that hit the nail on the head. She continues, “this is Idol craftsmanship. Fine, functional, traces of enchantments - the style of ornation makes me think Hephaestus.”

“She sure is smart.” Ah, look - John was joining the conversation again. Without a sound, he had appeared again behind the Astral, snatching for the sword. Dave snapped it up instead, switching out with the apple, which John quickly crunched into. Irate glances from you transitioned into a neutrally apologetic one towards Rose. The pause of silence was enough for John to decide to continue leading conversation. “Hephaestus owed me a favor,” he chimed off between bites, “and Dave was already enough of a burden _without_ a broken sword. So, I helped him out!”

At the mention of the broken sword, you and Rose simultaneously looked away from each other. Wonderful. At last, a subject you were both agreed upon in terms of blacklisting. She murmured, “how charitable,” before finally moving towards the door. “Thank you for sharing with us, David. But it is getting late. I do believe Kanaya and I must be off.”

Exhaling, you could have sworn you heard the Astral breathe out a quick ‘oh thank god’, setting her cup solidly on the table. You followed Rose, nodding. “And should I expect to be hearing from you again? Are you at least going to give a warning? Or should I just expect for you to swoop in as you please? I’ll make a welcome mat and a little bell for you. I can just lie awake and listen for it every single minute of my life, seems a solid plan.”

“Only if I can be guaranteed that you won’t run out the back door the moment I do.” She rebukes, goes towards the door, stops, turns to face you.

Both of you are stopped.

She has a hand on the door, and neither of you seem to know precisely what has her frozen. Her comment hangs in the air, and you both shuffle around. John and Kanaya are watching, you can feel their eyes on the back of your head. Your eyes shift towards the bookcases to the right, then back to Rose. “Not much elsewhere to go if I do.” Slow, calculated words. “I can’t fly, Rose.”

“Your companion can.” True. You nod in concession, but she does not pause. “Can I have your word?”

“Why? What would that be worth?”

Rose. The bookcase. The door. Rose. When your eyes come around this second time,she locks in your gaze, and this time you remain connected, holding your breath. You take note again of those lines, that emphasize the orchid purple. “More than you think,” she assures you quietly.

She’s opened the door, and you’ve said nothing. Yet she seems to have received the answer she wished for. “... I’ll alert you by letter.” she concedes. “So you’ll have time next to clean a bit more. Do something about that smell.”

A flinch, and your eyes break away. When she turns and walks, Kanaya rushing to follow, her orange Dersite robes keep a reflection of the candlelight of your home, carries it with her into the woods. You watch her disappear, cutting through, refusing to become a part of the dark. She’s merely a dot of illumination by the time you shut the door to the glints of yellow eyes beginning to appear between the blurred masses of the trees.

And John is at your shoulder, leaned against the wall, waiting for you to talk.

“I told you, you can eat the cakes.” Grumbling, you turn away, wanting a moment before going back to what you have here. He takes another bite of the apple, shrugging.

“Sure. But what about lessons?” He smells like sweets and blood when he leans close enough, and you know Rose must have smelled it, known what he was doing, what you needed a familiar for. You stride to the bookcase, fumbling for the books you wanted, pulling them from the shelves to reveal a lever. You can’t help but sigh, tired, pulling it.

“I’m exhausted, John. Tomorrow.” The sound of a click, and the shelf slides aside. The space inside is shallow, housing only a body slumped against the back wall, skin pale and cold. His cloak is purpled, like Rose’s - marks of Dersite nobility. You walk over, dropping in front of him, straightening out his hair casually, making him presentable, light blonde hair wisped and brushed just how you’ve always remembered it. You breath in, and the perfumes haven’t worn off. Musk, hints of citrus. Your hand props up his chin, and you focus intently, until his eyelids lazily slide open, eyes a golden orange that stares into dead space just over your shoulder. “You need to teach me how to fix that. I hate that, it looks so unfocused, jesus.” His skin warms, not just from your contact, but from the light thrum of energy that’s beginning to flow. Eventually, however, you have to break it. His eyes slide closed again, and you look back towards John, trying to keep your gaze neutral. “It’s not him. He was more alert than that.”

“It just takes practice. We can go over it.” John waves it off with a gesture of his hand, tail flicking. “Once you get that down, we can go over talking.”

(you aren’t okay with the pitching feeling your chest makes, elated at that idea.)

“Sure.” You agree passively, tucking the man back in, his skin cooling too quickly. You jerk your hand away, moving back to the lever. ‘Do something about the smell’. You know Rose. It was just to scare you. You had been in doubt, but once she was gone, you could be calm. She couldn’t have smelt any decay. He was too perfectly preserved, you always made sure of that. There was just something about her presence that shook your confidence.

(you were too smart to call it anything but ‘common sense’. you were too stubborn to not push that away.)

“Are we going to let her back in?”

There was almost a disgruntled tone to John’s usually foolhardy cheer. He kept it passively locked under childishly untroubled expressions. A flicker of annoyance tugged at your brow. “Why wouldn’t we? She didn’t find anything. She won’t.”

“What if she does?” Persistent, sighing. You didn’t let it affect you, dressing down to crawl into bed, rolling your shoulders into a shrug out of your shirt.

“She won’t. Not unless I want her to.”

“Mm-hm. But what if she _does_?” You could hear the exasperation, the petulance. You didn’t meet it, responding casually over your shoulder.

“Then you’d better teach me the talking thing.” Because she was a Sourceress of Derse, but she was also your best friend, and you knew, you _knew_ , she missed your brother just as much as you. She had, after all, been at his funeral. “She’d… I’d want Dirk to say hello when he sees her again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> world building, sorry it's so slow! ^^


	2. The Necromancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I will try not to ever let you guys wait so much unless i can't help it! ^^!

Awakening - a routine process, because you're a man who keeps his sanity through synchronization, scheduling and timing. It starts, midday, when the sun is high enough, coming to a peak over the tall trees surrounding your home. The clock ticks erratically, the light is piercing your sensitive eyes, even from behind your eyelids. And the cold draft does nothing to compete with the warmth at your side, deceptively thin arms wrapped strong around your chest. You shift to ease the pressure, and you listen to the clock as it counts down your hours. Tick, tock, tick, tock…

With a groan, you shove, hearing John’s body collide solidly with the wall, a stretched-out growl. He clings tighter, nipping into your shoulder, the sting jerking you further awake, a hiss of pain escaping from between your teeth. The Incubus chuckles, and you can hear the purr in his cadence, a contented sort of sound. The both of you are officially roused from bed and you lope to the balcony to wash your wound.

Even as adjusted as you are, the sight is incredible - the sun lights the treetops, even if none of it pervades any further. Your hand runs under the cold cascade that falls from your roof, and you dip your injured shoulder into the stream as well, shivering. You hear the crows chattering, beginning to gather near you in greeting, some taking a dip into the stream as well and shaking out their feathers. Some of the poor things look more ruffled than others, bits of plumage missing. These ones you offer your cupped hand to drink from, as an apology on the behalf of your familiar. Once you hear John stirring, you return inside, finding the hidden room open, bookshelves pushed aside. John’s hands are on Dirk, and you could not be quicker to his side. “Knock it off”, you snap, mid-journey, and by the time you reach him he’s already backed off, that devilish grin spread across his face. There aren’t any marks or anything on Dirk - he wouldn’t damage him. You just… don’t like John’s hands on your brother. You’re a bit protective.

“I was just checking on him. You have to watch for decay. I went through all that trouble to rebuild the body, it’d be stupid if it went to waste.”

“Then check and move on, you don’t need to caress every inch.” You grumble and straighten out his cape, which was, of course, the only real sign of any kind of disturbance. Again, overprotective, but, well. “What are we doing today?” Attempting to change the subject, you still refuse to look at him. It’s not as if he needs the visual recognition to encourage him, anyways. He’s fiddling with things in the kitchen, likely getting the last of the cake stock.

“ _You’re_ going to town,” he informed pointedly. “We’re out of candles. And those apples are going to rot if you wait too long to pick them up! When you get back I think we can do some basic practice. Maybe some charts.” 

At that, you looked over. ‘Charts’ was not a word you usually liked between the two of you, nor did you like how casually he tended to bring them up.

“With who…?” A hint of warning in your tone of questioning. “Not with Dirk? Unless you were nominating your own pet.”

Waving his hand, he dismissed the very suggestion. “I’ll find someone.” And he left it at that. You shut down your common sense and indulge in a sort of trust. Leaving Dirk’s side, you dressed yourself. Continued your routine, steps clicking in time with the ticking of the clock you picked up from the bedside. Fingers run over the scratched surface of the glass, feeling the tiny heartbeat of cogs inside. You loop it round your neck, head for the door - and immediately, you’re stopped by John.

The clock keeps ticking, but John has a more free-flowing rhythm that he uses to interrupt yours now. He stands in the doorway, not doing particularly anything other than forcing you to do the same. You could shove past, but it’d be too much effort - a fault of laziness on your part. Instead, you stare him down, annoyance apparent in the curdled twist at the corner of your mouth. He might have noticed it, were sapphire not so _transfixed_ upwards on your unguarded eyes. You know in cases like this they give away your uncertainty, unsure how exactly to view the rounded face. Eventually, he leans onto the tips of his toes, pecking a semi-chaste kiss on your neck, some minor contact of teeth involved. You shy from it in surprise, a semi-thrill shaking down your spine at the inconsistence of tenderness and pain. But he’s already pulled away, lithely sidestepping from the doorway.

“Was there a reason for that?” You demand, the irritation in your voice wavering. He only shrugs in response, still watching you with those eyes.

“Snack? Try not to take too long, it gets boring.” After that, he leaves you alone, padding off to do his own thing.

For a temporary moment, you regret not being able to bring Dirk with you. Wary watch ensures John does not approach him, leaving you fully satisfied to pass through the door. And into the woods you go, only a temporary pause at the yellow eyes that look up the hill, with that same transfixation until the dark swallows you.

~*~

Your routine process continues when you emerge from the woods. You highly doubt it’s as graceful as Rose’s was a few days ago. Rather, in comparison, it is sudden, and it is _enticing_. Only a few moments, and the locals take note, heads peeking from windows and doors, and suddenly setting the square abuzz as they flow out. 

And really, it never stops feeling flattering. Rose didn’t appreciate these people enough.

There are some usual routes that you tend to stick to, with limited coins jingling in your pocket. First stop today is the produce store. This woman - the owner - whose eyes follow you from behind red hair, is the reason you’re drowning in apples. Sometimes you suppose you should admire the customer service. She certainly picked up quickly on your favorite food item, and the town sacrifice was apt the first few months. There’s temporary consideration of faking a liking to bacon, but it’s quickly eclipsed by a fear of having too much to eat, having it spoil before you can get through it. Besides, you’re certain apples are cheaper for the town. You’d hate to be an inconsiderate guest. You’re quick and stealthy, as always. There’s a reputation to keep. She finds the usual, even amount of payment in her apron pocket for the small increment of meat and staple foods that you take in your basket, preferring to go through your business without too much chatter.

Daughters of Lohac have less consideration. They hush when you walk past, taking a temporary glance, and that wordless exchange revives them, twittering in shrill, nervous laughter when you lose sight of them. A twitch of the side of your mouth could be interpreted as a smile. Next stop is the little house that sells the candles, owned by one of the prettier girl’s father. When John says you’re out without specification, it tends to mean the white ones, a more common color for the ceremonies. After you restock, your pocket is considerably lighter. You could buy more meat. You could buy a drink.

Of course, there they are - the baskets that Rose mentioned, filled to the brim with produce. Only about three, but still A more forlorn glance lingers from across the square, before you drag yourself to the stables. When you rap on the frame, the sound startles the young man, though not as much as the sight of you. His spine straightens considerably.

Oh, god, you think he’s going to cry.

He’s trembling as you step inside, and you try not to look at him too long. Instead, you look over the horses, picking out a fairly sturdy-looking one. He practically flinches into a wall as you extend the last of your coins. “What do you say - a week? I’ll need a cart as well.”

Good, he’s finally relaxing. His fingers uncurl slowly, letting you drop the payment into his palm. You don’t know what you did to make this poor boy so terrified. Usually the townsfolk adore you, any cautions merely owed to a sort of superstitious theatric. For him, however, there is genuine terror in his eyes before he turns to saddle a horse for you. “I’ll bring it back safe,” you promise, leaning to keep watching him. His shoulders hitch in his work as he seems to think carefully over what to say.

“I don’t doubt that, sir,” he finally replies, hastily, “you’re the only one of three people that can. And that’s really sayin’ something, all considering how one of them isn’t even human.” He’s starting to shake again. Isn’t he quite the nervous one. “Which isn’t an offense, of course. Simple commenting.”

“No offense taken. Who’s the third, though?” You were familiar with the Denizens, false Gods of old that tended to occupy the cardinal towns of the Era. Lohac had it’s own that was discussed often, and that you were even _more_ familiar with. But a third? You were perplexed at first - then, as you made the inquiry, you realized whom he was speaking of.

“Th-The Sourceress,” he stuttered, and you took note, things suddenly making a bit more sense. It was possible that it was not YOU the fellow was so shaken up about. “Don’t know if you saw her. Went into the woods, came back after dark. She…”

His legs were shaking. You pulled up a stool, offering it cautiously, and it only seemed to distress him more as he shook his head. “We told her not to, sir!” he outcried, in his apparent defense of a situation that had gone entirely over your head. You were more concerned about him potentially collapsing than you are of any chance that Rose has done any genuine damage. You continued to urge the stool forward.

“I’m sure you did the best you could. To stop… whatever it was she did.” Patronizing him seemed the best option. And to that, he finally came to a sort of... standstill. Once it sunk in, he slowly took the stool, lowering himself cautiously onto the sear.. Now the both of you looked equally perplexed. You wondered how much of this was his own brand of Lohac dramatization.

“... you didn’t notice? The apples? We had two more baskets for the offering, we tried to tell her, but she insisted! Left some gold that she said to hand over in exchange, but we didn’t think-”

“She left gold?

While you hadn’t meant to cut him off so suddenly, you can’t really contain that excitement. Your overdramatic friend is handling all of this fairly well, despite his obvious lack of understanding on what precisely has happened here. He slowly reaches for the top of a nearby storage unit, pulling up a sack of gold coins.

“For you, yes. Told us to consider it her own tribute, for the safety of Derse. I… you’re not upset?”

Upset? You’re elated. But you keep your eyewear fixed on, calmly taking the gold. You shrug.

“If the Sourceress wants to pay tribute, who am I to stop her?” You loved that woman. As much as she had turned your careful, consistent scheduling, you somehow minded a little less now. 

After some polite words of departure, you took the horse, moving back into the forest, watchful to keep your promise, keep it safe. And he was right - you were one of the few that could, avoided again by those yellow eyes.

~*~

Returning home, you’re greeted by two vastly differing scents - the thick cloy of baked goods, and the metallic sting of blood. One is ‘familiarity’. The other, a sweet-spiced welcoming, strikes a certain sense in your mind, resounds a word: ‘home’. A rare treat, waking early. Fresh made breakfast, cinnamon-spiced apples. Human.

By the Gods that was… an inhuman amount of cake.

Apparently he had gotten bored waiting for the apples, though you weren’t sure where he got all the sugar. John placed a freshly-frosted confection on the counter, next to several similar ones. And of course, you could not ignore the tall, dark and handsome company he had gained, attending, dead-pan, to a mixing bowl. Though it was already a fairly consistent better, he continued stirring, only acknowledging your presence by looking up in complete unison with John as the door clicked shut behind you. Awkwardly, you balanced the apple baskets, seeing no place to set them down in the kitchen. You balanced your stare between the two of them, lips drawn tight in an expression of disbelief.

“... think your pet can drop the batter and do something useful? Like help me carry the last basket in?” For now, you placed the apples on the table, still not cleared from Rose’s visit. Noises behind you implied that John had begun baking again, taking the bowl from his companion.

This thing creeped you out. It had followed John since you had taken him as a familiar, and he had resisted any attempts to ask about details. Whoever it had been before was very handsome. Strong jaw, defined and mature age lines that accented the face. Black hair, minus some greyed temples that must have begun to develop before his death. Eyes were a bottle-green, nose a bit pointed. John usually kept it stored away, but also took any excuse to bring it out. As a student, you had to at least admire the skill in the reanimation. Minus that dead stare, it seemed almost alive in the way it moved, the way it interacted with the environment around it. You had even heard it ‘speak’ at some points, words planted by John, spoken with a gentle, soothing baritone that almost made you feel… safe. 

Honestly, you couldn’t say why you were so put off. The only detail John had given was that it’s name was Darren, and you weren’t entirely sure if that was true or not. Perhaps that was all it was - uneasiness in face of the unknown. Mayhaps it was how clingy the Incubus seemed to it, smothering it in physical affection, caught sometimes planting kisses along it’s face, nestled against it’s chest. Or it might have been the disconcerting similarity you sometimes saw in their faces, and tried very, very hard not to think about.

“You got a horse?” You look over to see John leaning to peer out the window. Said horse is tethered to the closest tree to the house, grazing peacefully. “And a cart!” His face is pressed against the glass, absolutely delighted by your acquisition. "We could bring back a ton of things back from the next bandit raid! I mean, you probably used the last of the gold for that, right?"

You're almost loathe to break his enthusiasm. "I did. But we're not going to have to crawl around some dirty camps to restock." You fetch the bag of gold from your coat pocket, giving it a jingle, and he turns to eye it skeptically. "We've been paid."

"Paid?" There’s almost a sound of disappointment in John’s voice, coming up closer to analyze it. “By who, Lohac? Does this mean they’re going to stop giving us apples?” He hardly had the same sentimental appreciation for the Village’s kindness. Spoiled brat.

“Sorry, no such luck. Money’s not from Lohac.” The bag rattled as you moved to a chest beside your bed, tucking the gold into some spare cloaks. “They sacrifice enough profit with what they do give us, that’s not exactly local produce, John. Apples that good can’t come from anywhere but Lowas.”

“Alright, alright. I get it. So then who is the _gold from_?” At this point you contemplated leaving him hanging, just for the sake of watching him squirm, as well as for his complete lack of gratitude. But after thinking for a moment, you decided you were too kind for that. Not to mention you wanted to flaunt Rose’s generosity.

“Our one and only Derse Sourceress. She took some of those apples off our hands in exchange for the sum. No dungeon raids for us - Rose came through.” You stood, a bit proud, stretching before collapsing back onto the bed, reveling in your newly acquired time for leisure. But, of course, John was quick to spoil. As you stared up at the ceiling, you heard the drag of fabric, a meaty sort of flop at your bedside. Your stomach churns, and you contain it as you look up, seeing the limp body at your feet. His feet were filthy from travel, his clothes tattered. John had jumped whatever camp he’d found before you.

“Then we don’t need to go back.” He jumped onto one of the few cake-free spots on the counter, crossing his legs and arms a bit petulantly. “So I guess we can get some work done! Do you want to cut him open, or should I?”

~*~

There are rare points when you lose track of time, in favor of quiet, of concentration. Which would work much better, were it not for John’s general habit of quiet, subtle domination, enthusiastic lead. But part of that was, unfortunately, your fault. You should have known enough about him at this point to resist. Shouldn’t get so carried away in simple motions that he makes look elegant.

The problem is that even after so many years, you forget. You have a natural, human appreciation for the way his hands move. An odd habit to some. To you, it’s simply because you’ve been here so long. You’ve been alone. In solitude, people tend to seek out company, a temporary solace of humanity. This method of observation means that you tend to blind yourself to the fact that there _is none there_.

He just has a very simple way to deceive.

It’s in the rounded parts of his face, barely developing into some sort of defined shape. It’s in the way those teeth sometimes oh-so-gently brace over his lip in concentration. It’s in his hands. There’s experience and grace in the way they move, brush over slightly greying skin. He drops the usually cloyed emphasis, stops working so hard to make sure attention is on him. And for a minute, you can see a _human_ , trapped there under the curled horns, sheltered beneath the folded wings, at rest.

Then, you’re quick to jump as his hand suddenly plunges, breaking open skin. There’s the squelch of flesh, the stranger’s chest ripped upon. And you had forgotten about those claws he keeps hidden sometimes. He looks absolutely amused by the surprise evident on your face. “Were you even listening? Here, I got the hard part. Your turn.”

“Is there a reason we have to cut them open like that? My God, John.” And you know there is, but it doesn’t make the whole business any less disgusting, your nose wrinkling from the slight smell of decay and gore, skin and muscle being ripped away, rips pried and snapped. Not too much blood, as much of it has already drained to the lower part of the body. What mess has been made, John wipes away on your spare cloak that he looted. 

“Because you’re a huge idiot who can’t learn without actual physical examples. And if I do it to _Dirk_ , you’re going to _whine_ and I’d have to waste a whole bunch of energy on fixing him up every time. So we cut up these guys instead. Like I said - your turn.” You have a feeling this is mostly because he’s bitter about your earlier exchange. Wisely, you say nothing, merely scooting to take your place next to the cadaver.

He’s right - you learn better from physical examples, from touch. You could learn fairly well from books, but the rare ones you looked at in the beginning did very little to help you. John had a method all his own when it came to this. And he didn’t enjoy recording it all for you to learn from. He preferred to demonstrate - he preferred to guide. His hands came over yours. “Did you want me to start off, or do you?”

“I can do it,” came your stubborn response, disguising the way your gut churns at the very idea. You suck it in, holding your breath, holding in everything. Ever so gentle, you lean over the body, closing your eyes as to not look into the cold face of this stranger - because you never neglect to remember that these people are dying for your selfish causes. It’s at least been enough that it’s that much easier let go of any barriers, as your lips part, meeting with the other's. A kiss, chaste, lingering there before you’re exhaling softly, and letting a piece of yourself go.

There’s interesting effects to learning an art like this from an Incubus. The plus is that the usual technique of Necromancy is… complicated. Takes focus, meditation, skill. Training that you never had, to conjure souls and control them, because they cannot always be so easily tamed. They had desires of their own - of control, of peace.

Fortunately, people tended to have less complications with their own souls. This was one matter you could at least handle competently.

When you part, you can feel warmth where your hands were braced - also a slight pressure, as John has his hands gently pressed down onto yours, keeping you fixed and focused. “Good! That’s the easy part. We can move him from here, I know have that part down.” He twitches his finger, signalling you to test it. You track down the piece of you implanted there, reconnect, and let that twitch pull, like a string, jerking at the corpse’s hand, raising and immediately doing a dead drop. “So next step - he already has life in him. You can feel that, right?” Another squeeze, and you know he’s referring to the heat at your fingertips. “It’s just lingering, taking up space - push it in. If you want to fix all those things you keep complaining about with Dirk, you have to learn how to do this.”

And you know that, you’ve known that forever - you tend to make and lose progress at a frustrating rate to this end. So you fixate, concentrate on that still, cold organ sitting in his chest. You press your hand harder against him, feel your palms begin to burn, like they’re pressed against metal that’s sat just a moment too long in the sun. That heat gathers, and you imagine it pushing out, watch the remainder of gore trickling on John’s hand, envision the blood in his veins…

There’s a pulse, weak, the pathetic, fluttering throb of the muscle. John’s got this idiotic smile of pride and smugness that’s going to break his face, as a second one starts up, pulling blood back, desperate to recreate life where it’s long since faded. From here, you’ve made the next stop to playing God.

As your practice corpse begins to slowly come back to life, John once again goes over the general ideas with you - get the basic functions working, keep them fired with that little piece of yourself, and you’re piloting a working doll, not having to waste energy and concentration on simple things. Heartbeat. Breathing. Those little, human tendencies that you seem to love so. Your clock ticks in time to the pulses of the heart, and when he lazily blinks, you can only thrill at the thought of Dirk doing the same.

~*~

“I’m hungry.”

Crickets chirp over the sound of the water flow that is constantly moving above you. You had just come back in, shivering from the cold outside, making sure the horse was still safe, and that the area around him was lit, the flame hopefully detracting the predators. They had learned to stay at a considerable distance whenever you emerged, flames reflecting on their yellow eyes. Now, the candlelight reflected in an eerie manner on John’s eyes, from where he was curled onto your bed. And you knew, try as you may to ignore him, he was going to have his way tonight.

“Isn’t that what you made all the cakes for?” Wearily, you try to extend your time, slipping out of your cloak, unfastening the lighter jacket you wore underneath. You left the undershirt as you dropped into the dining room chair, tugging at your boots. John shifts, somewhere out of your sight.

“I didn’t get a chance to make the apple pie, those are more filling. And besides, it only lasts so long. You keep putting off _really_ feeding me, you’re the _worst_ Master in Skaia.” He emphasized the statement with a sigh. There was this way of speaking John had that just made things very… dramatic. He didn’t mean his words, not really - and he didn’t really think they held that much more power, said in such a manner.

“ _I’ve_ been tired. Rose stayed almost all night last night, I’d probably have slept through the day today. Then you wouldn’t have had the apples at all.” The fabric dragged against your skin as you dragged down the light brown leggings, shivering cold in just your shirt. When you straightened back up, it fell slightly off your shoulder, and you felt the tell-tale pressure of trace fingernail points on your skin.

“Then you _completely_ have my thanks right now, Dave.” That pinprick faded, replaced by gentle fingertips, petting over. And John, so small, so deceitful, had to only slightly sink to be level, chin resting on your shoulder, head tilting, face nuzzling into the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His voice was so light, so small - so amplified, close to you, a delicate, pleading noise, like a begging, spoiled child. “But I need to eat, _right now_.”

You know better than to move, when he hugs onto you, before moving himself round, rotating himself around you. He curls onto your sleep, sweet, mild - the curled, cordate spade of his tail traced up your spine, wrapped round your waist. The kisses he plants on your neck are teasing and wanton, interrupted when he breaks away to smile at you, lip braced delicately under his upper jaw. You know better than to pretend he hasn’t already gotten you.

It’s part of the schedule, the timing that rules you. The _tick tock_ of cogs as he gently lifts the clock over your head, placing it to the side, wings holding you against him. You won’t wake tomorrow - but when you do next, it will be to the highest position of the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> whispers quietly
> 
> world building
> 
> i hope no one was deterred, i undertsand this is a stupidly long beginning. but please enjoy!


End file.
